


Stitched Up

by jesuisherve



Category: The Witcher 3, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Injury Recovery, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 17:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14313198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesuisherve/pseuds/jesuisherve
Summary: Eskel meets the business end of a boar, and Geralt has to help him get healed up in a nearby village.





	1. The Boar

**Author's Note:**

> I took some liberties with what Alness is like... i know that there's not much in it in the game, but yeah.

The heavy rain was momentarily blinding. Geralt blinked furiously, cursing the rain out loud. This was the worst time to be caught in a storm. The deep part of the forest he and Eskel had trekked into was teeming with wildlife, some common animals as dangerous as any monster. He didn’t like rain or storms at the best of times, and this was certainly not one of the best times.

“C’mon,” the white-haired witcher growled, gripping the hilt of his steel sword tighter. A large boar, one of a herd that had run by earlier, huffed and rumbled a deep, menacing grunt. 

Geralt was standing over Eskel, who had been gored through the calf by the boar only moments before. Geralt had seen the attack out of the corner of his eye, just outside of his periphery. The boar had rushed Eskel from the side. Eskel had misstepped his dodge, and the boar’s tusk speared him in the leg, dropping the witcher to the ground immediately. When he saw Eskel fall, he rushed the boar and quickly sketched Aard into the air. The immense force of the sign shot the boar back enough for Geralt to get between the monstrously large animal and the fallen witcher. 

The boar pawed at the ground, still huffing. Its breath was visible in the cold, rain-choked air. Geralt was hesitant to move away from Eskel, but he knew that this stand-off had to come to a quick end. Eskel, despite having the quicker healing abilities of a witcher, needed medical care. He was unable to stand and fight, and if the boar got past Geralt, it undoubtedly could finish the wounded witcher off.

Geralt had to make a decision, so he did. In a split second, he dashed at the boar, and attacked with his sword. The boar squealed as the sword’s blade struck and drew blood. Geralt kept pressing forward, hacking and slashing and throwing signs, pursuing the boar until it fell dead. 

Soak from sweat, rain and boar blood, Geralt returned to Eskel’s side, who had just taken a dose of Swallow. “We need to tourniquet this,” the injured witcher said between gritted teeth. Geralt agreed, and whistled for Roach. Both their horses, Roach and Scorpion, responded to the call. Scorpion nickered nervously, but Geralt pushed his soft nose away and rummaged through Roach’s saddle bags for a spare piece of rope that he knew he had somewhere. 

Rope retrieved, Geralt knelt next to Eskel and helped tie the tourniquet securely. “Can you ride?” Geralt asked.

“I think so,” Eskel said. His face was pale, which made the twisted scars on his face stand out more than usual. The pallor was a combination of the pain of the injury, and the effects of Swallow, which made skin fade to white and blue veins become more visible. 

“Okay,” Geralt said, stepping behind Eskel to help haul him to his feet. “Up you get.”

 With Geralt’s aid, Eskel managed to get up on Scorpion, although the effort came with a few false starts, curse words, and low murmurs of pain.

 They rode through the rain. Geralt rode beside Eskel, watching to make sure the other witcher didn’t slip or lose his balance. They had both sustained much more serious injuries in the past, but a wound like that was still no laughing matter. Geralt hadn’t examined it too closely. There was no time. It was best to get out of the rain, to somewhere warm and dry, before treating the wound. Not to mention, out of the forest. Monsters and animals roamed, and Geralt couldn’t guarantee Eskel’s protection if they were set upon by a pack of wolves, a bear, endregas, or any number of other things that prowled the night. 

The closest village was Alness. The village hosted the Vegelbud races, and Geralt knew that they could get help there. Being friendly with the Vegelbuds would be their ticket in. As they entered the small village, both witchers came up to the inn in Alness. Geralt dismounted first, and helped Eskel slide off Scorpion’s back. He supported Eskel, and they limped into the inn together.

It was warm in the inn, and fairly quiet. Only a few patrons were present, most villagers probably chose to stay home due to the storm. One bard lazily plucked at a lute in the far corner. There was a crackling fire, and the air smelled of food. The minimal conversation that was being had ceased when the witchers entered. The village people, who were three men and a woman sitting together, had their eyes glued on the dripping strangers.  

“We need a healer,” Geralt said, his harsh voice breaking the silence. “Boar gouged his leg.”

The village woman rose first, galvanizing the others into action. “We haven’t a healer in Alness. The closest herbalist lives out of the village.” 

Eskel swore, and Geralt helped him to a table to sit. Blood pattered on the inn’s wooden floor. 

“I can bring hot water and cloth to clean the wound,” the innkeeper offered. Geralt nodded. The man disappeared into the kitchen, his voice could be faintly heard barking orders. 

The village woman came to Eskel’s side. “I know a bit of medicine,” she admitted. “Though, you might know more.”

“We have to cut the trouser leg open,” Eskel said, his husky voice awash with pain. “Then we can see the damage and what we need to do.”

Geralt pulled out a knife, the one he used to cut trophies from monsters. He always kept it clean and sharp. The village woman took it before Geralt could say anything. She pulled Eskel’s boot off with gentle hands. Blood dripped out of the boot as she pulled it off. Geralt watched anxiously, knowing that Eskel would probably be fine, but still imagining the worst. The innkeeper returned with the hot water and rags. Geralt took them, and set them aside until they could be used.  

The other villagers and the bard had gathered, forming a loose circle. They didn’t get too close, which was probably from their ingrained mistrust of witchers, but for the moment that was fine. Geralt didn’t want anyone too close anyway.  

The village woman, whose name Geralt learned later to be Shona, used the sharp edge of the hunting knife to carefully slice the bloodied trouser leg open. She peeled the soaked material away from Eskel’s gored calf, and kept a stoic face when the wound was revealed.  

“Hand me the water and a rag,” Shona said. Geralt fetched them for her. Steam rose out of the bucket holding the water. “This is going to hurt,” Shona warned. 

“The boar tusk hurt already,” Eskel said, gritting his teeth in preparation. “Do it.” 

She began cleaning the wound. The boar’s tusk had not pierced all the way through, which was good. It had only torn through the muscle in the calf. No bones seemed to be broken. As Shona continued cleaning, Eskel’s fists clenched tightly, but his face didn’t change. Geralt continued to watch, silently assessing the wound, estimating how much blood Eskel had lost, and if taking another dose of Swallow, or White Raffard’s decoction, would help. White Raffard’s sometimes made Eskel nauseous, but nausea was a low price to pay if his leg healed right.

As Shona cleaned the wound, Geralt thanked the innkeeper. “Sorry to do this,” he said. “But the inn was the best place.”

“It’s fine,” the innkeeper said gruffly. “It’s not the first time blood’s spilt on my floor. Although, it’s usually from some drunk after a fight.”

Geralt nodded, but his attention turned back to Shona’s care of Eskel’s wound. With the blood and grime being cleared away, the damage was much easier to gauge. “You’re going to need stitches,” Geralt said. 

“Don’t I know it,” Eskel said grimly. Another scar to add to the collection. “That’s an understatement, Wolf.”

Geralt ran through a checklist of care measures in his head. “We need to dress and pack the wound,” Geralt said. “And one of you,” he turned his head and barked at the by-standing village men. “Get a horse and ride to the nearest healer and bring them.”

Two of the men objected, but under Geralt’s fiery gaze, one of the group agreed to go. As the man hurried out, Geralt was back at Eskel’s side. Shona was doing a good job, for someone who claimed to have little knowledge of medicine. 

“Hold this, put pressure on it,” she told Geralt. He took another one of the rags from her and pressed it to the ragged hole in Eskel’s calf. Eskel hissed. It stung.

“Shut up,” Geralt said, not unkindly. Eskel was tempted to kick the witcher with his other foot, but decided against it. Geralt held the rag in place as Shona tore another into strips. The innkeeper returned with a few more, and one of the kitchen workers brought out another bucket of clean hot water. 

 With the wound cleaned, covered, and bandaged, it was only a matter of waiting for a healer to arrive. Again, Geralt was sure that Eskel would be fine, but it was better to be sure than to risk losing a limb.

 The innkeeper offered them a room, and Geralt accepted gladly. They would negotiate the price for the room later.

 Geralt helped Eskel hobble up to the room the innkeeper had prepared for them. After clumsily getting stripped out of his wet clothes, which Geralt also helped with, Eskel got to lay down. He sighed in relief as his body relaxed. The pain was still immense, but he felt better now that the wound had been cleaned and dressed. He would take another dose of Swallow after eating some food. It felt good to be in the warmth of the inn. 

 As Eskel rested, Geralt ventured back out into the rain to get Scorpion and Roach looked after. Both had wandered under the open stable that was beside the inn. Luckily, their saddlebags were well-crafted and kept mostly everything dry, despite the rain. Geralt rubbed both the horses down, and made a note to ask the innkeeper to make sure they got fed. While he was out there, he also grabbed Eskel’s travel pack. There were dry clothes inside, which he was sure Eskel would want to change into.

 Shona was waiting for the witcher when Geralt returned inside the inn. “Can I do anything else?” she asked.

 Geralt shook his head. “No. But thank you for being so quick to help. We don’t get that often.”

 She shook her head, brushing off Geralt’s thanks. “I’ve seen you before. You raced in the Vegelbud’s memorial derby. You rode well.”

 He accepted her complement with a half smile. “The Vegelbuds are gracious hosts,” he said, referring to his time partaking in the races. He knew that the entire village of Alness owed a lot to the wealthy family. The village was thriving compared to others in this time of war. It was developing and growing, because of them and the money that was poured into the races, and whatever other enterprises the Vegelbuds chose to undertake.

 “Let me know if I can repay your kindness,” Geralt told Shona. She had chosen to take action to help, when she had no need to. Geralt could have done everything she had done, but Shona had decided to help a stranger in need, even though the two of them were witchers. It was a small kindness, but it was valued. 

 “Aye, I’ll call on you, Witcher,” she said with a smile. 

 Geralt nodded, and then proceeded to go up the stairs to where Eskel lay. He entered the room, and held out Eskel’s travel pack to show him. “Want to get dressed?”

 “In a minute,” Eskel said in a small voice. His head was tilted back, and his eyes were closed. Geralt put the pack down, and crossed the room to pull the blanket on the bed over Eskel, who was still naked from changing out of the wet clothes. Geralt felt no embarrassment seeing Eskel disrobed. He had seen it before. It was nothing new. He adjusted the blanket, and touched Eskel’s cheek tenderly. Eyes still closed, Eskel smiled faintly at the touch.

 “Do you need anything?” Geralt asked.

 “Lay with me,” Eskel said. “But be careful. Don’t jostle me too much.”

 Geralt took the opportunity to change out of his soaked armour and clothes as well. Cold was setting in, and he was starting to shiver. Nude, he carefully climbed into the bed, under the covers with Eskel.

 “Fuck,” Eskel hissed, “you’re like ice.”

 “Not my fault,” Geralt grumbled, gingerly arranging himself around Eskel as to not touch his injured leg. “You’ll warm me up.”

 Eskel turned his head to the side, and inched closer to Geralt so that his head was cradled against Geralt’s neck. They laid together like that, under the covers, for an hour, until there was a loud knock on the inn room’s door.

 “Witchers,” it was the voice of the village man who had run out to get a healer. “I brought the healer.”

 Geralt, who had untangled himself from Eskel at the first knock, pulled on Eskel’s dry trousers. He had forgotten to get his own from Roach’s saddlebags. The trousers were slightly too big, as Eskel was bulkier than he was. “One minute,” Geralt called. He also slipped on Eskel’s plain rough spun shirt. 

 He answered the door, and was greeted by the anxious looking village man, who was also soaked through from the rain, and a woman wrapped in a dark cloak. The woman, who was presumably the healer, lowered the hood of the cloak and revealed a plain face and dark auburn hair, which was swept back in a loose ponytail. Her eyes sparkled with intelligence and wit. She shooed the village man away, thanking him for fetching her.

 “Let’s see the damage,” the woman said. “I heard a little about it on the way here.”

 “Thank you for coming out here in a storm,” Geralt said, stepping aside to let her in. 

 The woman, who introduced herself as Halle, surveyed Eskel with a keen eye. Eskel’s wounded leg stuck out from under the blankets. He was propped up on his elbows, watching the scene with his cat eyes. “I’ll tell you right now,” he said with some chagrin, “I haven’t dressed yet. A lot of effort to put on trousers with this leg. I’m somewhat indecent.”

 Halle waved his warning aside. “Nothing I’ve never seen before. I am a healer, after all.” She knelt by the bed, and examined the makeshift bandages wrapped around the witcher’s calf. “This was quick thinking. Good emergency work.”

 “Credit goes to Shona, a village woman.” Geralt said.

 Halle nodded. “I know Shona. I’d expect as much from her.” She began to untie the rags-turned-bandages. Her movements were deliberate but cautious. Halle peeled back the dressing, and raised her eyebrows. “Unlucky,” she said, clicking her tongue. “A boar did this?”

 Eskel groaned. “I know. A stupid mistake. I let it get too close.”

 Halle motioned at Geralt. “Put pressure on this while I get ready.”

 Geralt knelt next to her, and pressed the dressing back over the hole in Eskel’s calf. Eskel gritted his teeth again, but made no sound to betray how much it hurt.

 Halle rummaged through a bag she had brought slung over her shoulder. It was full of pouches, which by the scent of them contained herbs, vials full of unnamed liquids, and tins that if Geralt were to hazard a guess, contained salves or lotions. There were other tools in the bag, but Geralt did not concern himself with identifying them. Halle would know how to wield them. 

 “All I can do is sew you up,” she told Eskel. “And give you some salves to help promote clean healing without infection.”

 Eskel let himself fall back onto the bed. “Do what you must,” he said.

 Halle brought out a thin, curved needle crafted from bone. She also grabbed a spool of thread. The thread was sturdy, and Geralt’s medallion trembled, barely noticeable, on his chest. The thread was enchanted, probably by some witch or sorceress. It would help with the healing.

 “Should I bother to warn you that this will hurt?” Halle asked.

 Eskel shook his head. Geralt glanced at him, not envious of the other witcher’s predicament. Before Halle strung the thread through the needle, she held it over a candle that was standing lit on a table in the room. This would sterilize the needle before use. Once it was cooled, she returned to Eskel’s leg.

 “Come over here,” she instructed Geralt. “I’ll need you to help hold the skin together while I do this.” She then turned to Eskel. “Do you want something to bite down on?”

 “No,” Eskel said. “Let’s just get it over with.”

 Geralt moved to Eskel’s side as Halle removed the dressing completely. Blood began to flow, but Geralt placed both hands on either side of the wound and pushed the meat of Eskel’s calf together. Eskel grunted, and Geralt could hear his hands close tightly on handfuls of the blanket. Halle worked quickly, dabbing blood away with a cloth from her bag and sewing skillfully. Each time the needle and thread passed through Eskel’s skin, Geralt felt the urge to look away, but he forced himself to watch. This was the consequence of not being alert enough, not being fast enough. People got hurt, and sometimes the people getting hurt were the ones he cared about.

 Halle tied off the thread. “There, done.” she said. “Are you okay?”

 Eskel said yes, but his eyes were squeezed shut. Geralt’s heart froze for a second in his chest. His heartbeat resumed a normal rhythm when Eskel’s golden eyes opened.

 Halle nodded to herself. “I’m going to get more hot water to clean up,” she said, and left the room.

 Geralt looked around. More blood had been spilled, all over the bedding. They probably could have moved Eskel first. It was too late now. “How does it feel?” Geralt asked.

 “It’s felt better,” Eskel replied shortly. He sucked in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “I’ll be okay,” he said. 

 “I know.”

 Halle returned with one of the buckets from earlier, filled with fresh hot water. “You can clean him up,” she instructed. “I’m going to mix a salve for you.”

 Geralt took the water, and a cloth, and did as he was told. It would give him a chance to wash Eskel’s blood off his hands, too. When he was done, Halle held out a tin. Geralt took the tin, and noticed that it seemed she had taken the time to wash her hands while she had fetched the water. “This is a mixture of a few things,” she said. “It should be applied twice a day when the bandages get changed. It will help the flesh heal. And, the thread will eventually dissolve when the skin knits back together.”

 “That’s unusual,” Geralt remarked. He had received stitches in the past as well, but he had always had to go back to a healer to have the threading removed. Or, risk it and pull it out himself.

“Enchanted,” Halle said simply. “I image you two will not stay in one place long enough for me to supervise the healing. This way, it will be better.”

The healer applied the salve to the freshly sewn up wound, and bandaged it. She seemed to have everything she could possibly need stowed away in her satchel.

“Thank you,” Eskel said, from his prone position on the bed. His energy had escaped him completely. He needed rest more than anything at this point. Halle accepted his thanks with a smile, and gestured for Geralt to step outside the room with her.

“Like witchers, I don’t work for free,” she said with a humorous smile. Geralt understood. Besides, she had worked quickly and diligently to help Eskel. She deserved payment for her efforts. 

“What do I owe you?”

They agreed on a payment, and Halle accepted the coin happily. “I will be here until the storm lets up,” she told him. “If you have concerns, I will be at Shona’s. The innkeeper can tell you where that is.”

 Geralt thanked her again before she left, and returned to the room. Eskel was on the verge of sleep. Geralt was glad. Rest would help the healing as much as anything else. Geralt undressed quietly, blew out the candles in the room, and crawled into bed next to Eskel.

 It was good to sleep under a roof again. They had spent several weeks outdoors, so it was a welcome change. Geralt closed his eyes, and let sleep overtake him.


	2. Morning

In the morning, Eskel woke first. Geralt was sleeping beside him, his breathing even. Eskel brushed loose white hair back over Geralt’s forehead. His leg did not hurt as bad as the night before, but it was still a dull, burning ache. He wouldn’t want to risk standing on it, yet. It looked like he would be spending the next few days in bed.

Beside him, Geralt was waking up. The white-haired witcher blinked slowly at the daylight that was streaming in through holes in the thick drapes hanging at the window. “Morning,” Eskel said.

“Morning,” Geralt mumbled. Adjusted to the sunlight, Geralt opened his eyes fully and looked at Eskel. The witcher’s dark hair was mussed from sleep, but he looked fully awake and much better than the night before. Colour had come back to his face. “We should probably check on your leg,” Geralt said.

He sat up and stretched before getting up. The tin of Halle’s salve was on the table, where he had put it the night before as he undressed. He retrieved it before going to check Eskel’s leg. No blood had seeped through the bandage, which was a good sign.

“We don’t have fresh bandages,” Eskel reminded him.

“Huh. Right.” Geralt put the salve tin back on the table. “I guess I’ll go get some before I take those ones off.”

His wet clothes from the night before were almost dried. They were sort of stiff and cold, but he had worn worse. Grimacing, he put them on. “I’ll be back.”

Geralt went downstairs and was greeted by the innkeeper. “Good morning,” the innkeeper offered cheerily.

“Greetings,” Geralt returned. “Can someone bring food up for Eskel? He probably needs it.” After a moment’s reflection. “Maybe a man. He hasn’t been able to put trousers on because of the leg. Don’t want to shock any ladies.”

“Of course,” the innkeeper replied. “How is he doing?”

“Better,” Geralt said, as he realized that there had been no introductions made yet. “I’m Geralt of Rivia, and my injured friend evidently is Eskel.”

“Aye, you mentioned that,” the innkeeper said. He was an older man with a greying beard and ruddy cheeks. “You can call me Andrin.”

“Andrin. We’ll probably be staying for a few more days, until Eskel can stand again.”


	3. Breakfast and Washing up

Andrin had directed him to the merchant stall in Alness. Geralt bought wads of material to make bandages from. It was cheap, but Geralt, ever the pragmatist, haggled the merchant down. As he walked back to the inn, a familiar woman’s voice caused him to pause.

Shona waved at him from a doorway. “Geralt,” she called, “how fares Eskel?”

“Much better,” Geralt replied, as he turned and walked back towards her. “You helped a lot. My thanks.”

“You thanked me already, Witcher,” Shona said teasingly.

“Your actions warrant another,” Geralt said back, warmly. 

Shona grinned at Geralt’s praise. “Well, then, you’re welcome. Is there anything else you need?” 

Geralt thought for a moment. “Maybe washing done. Are there any washerwomen in the village?”

“I can aid you with that,” Shona told him. “What needs washing?”

“Everything,” Geralt admitted. His clothes felt grimy after drying during the night. As the seasons changed, he had switched from heavy armour to something lighter, since the summer heat made wearing armour unbearable. Eskel was wearing lighter armour, as well, which could do with a wash. Although, he would probably need new light buckskin trousers made after Shona had cut the leg up the night before. The bandages and the blankets, which had been bloodied, could be washed as well. 

“Bring everything to me this afternoon,” Shona told him. “We’ll sort it out.”

* * *

Back at the inn, Geralt found Eskel sitting up in bed. There was half-eaten food sitting on Geralt’s side of the bed.

“What took you so long?” Eskel griped. “My leg is getting itchy.”

“I ran into Shona,” Geralt said, dumping the material for bandages on the table. “We’re going to get our stuff washed.” Geralt tore up one of the bolts of material into strips. “Let’s look at those stitches.”

When he unwrapped the bandages that Halle had tied up, he was pleased to see how neat the sewn together wound looked. Pretty clean. He slathered on salve from the tin Halle had given them. Eskel batted Geralt’s hands away when he went to rewrap the bandages.

“I can do it,” the dark-haired witcher insisted. Geralt shrugged, and let him. “Eat,” Eskel said, motioning with a jerk of his chin to the food.

Geralt grabbed the food and took it to the table. The food was good. He was glad that Eskel had saved some for him, since he had not thought to ask for an extra serving for himself.

“I can’t believe I let this happen,” Eskel said, his voice betraying the frustration he felt towards himself. “What would Vesemir say if he saw this?”

“Mistakes happen,” Geralt said. He had received plenty of stupid injuries in the past. He was the last person who would chastise or belittle Eskel. Boars could be intimidatingly dangerous, as the one last night had proven. 

Eskel did not seem to be assuaged by Geralt’s assurance. He shifted into a more comfortable position amongst the blanket and pillows on the bed. “Fuck that,” he said petulantly. 

“I’m gonna be taking that blanket later,” Geralt warned. “You bled all over it.”

“And we slept in that?” Eskel said, wrinkling his nose. 

“We’ve slept in worse,” Geralt reminded him.

“Not when we’ve had the choice,” Eskel countered.


	4. Washing Up

Geralt arrived at Shona’s with Eskel’s in-tact clothes and his own, bundled in the bloodied blanket. He had finally retrieved his own spare change of clothes from Roach’s saddlebags, so he didn’t have to leave Eskel stranded and naked at the inn with no blanket. Before he left, he had aided Eskel in putting on his trousers, which was not as difficult as he had expected. Eskel had yelped two or three times, but overall, it had been a relatively painless endeavour.

“Looks like you have quite a bit to do there,” Shona teased as she lead him to the yard behind her house.

Geralt picked up on her words, the implication that he was going to be doing the washing. That didn’t bother him too much. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before. There were two big washing buckets, one filled with soapy water, the other filled with clean water for rinsing. Geralt dumped the bundle of washing beside the soapy water and rolled up his sleeves. He also took off his swords, which he always carried armour or no, but put them within easy reach.

“We travel a lot,” Geralt told Shona, “It’s hard to keep as clean as we’d like.”

Shona nodded. Her village life did not consist of a lot of travel, but washing was a time consuming chore. It was hard work to wash all of the dirt and grime out of cloth, and then drying could take a long time if the sun wasn’t out. But, it was a hot day. The clouds had cleared completely after last night’s storm, and it was a good day to do washing.

“Leave the bloody stuff for last,” she instructed him. “Warm water will only set the blood into the material. You need to wash it with cold water.”

Shona provided him with a washboard, and set about doing other chores she had to do as the witcher got down to washing. As she completed her other tasks, Shona began to circle back to Geralt to see how the witcher was getting on.

Geralt was diligently scrubbing the light armour that didn’t have lots of leather or metal. The soapy water was beginning to darken with dirt. Leather could be brushed off and oiled later.

“So, what’s your story?” Shona asked, leaning on the backdoor frame of her house, watching Geralt wash.

“My story?” Geralt asked, with a chuckle. “That’s a long one. You’d be listening for a long time.”

Shona tilted her head. “Then, can I ask questions about your story?”

Geralt glanced up at her. His golden eyes caught the sun, and Shona was momentarily struck by how other-worldly the witchers were in comparison to her small-village experience. She had seen Eskel’s cat-like eyes and scars the night before, and Geralt’s gaze as just as eerie, even though his facial scarring was less severe. Although Geralt looked older than Eskel with his white hair and beard, he still had physical vitality that was evident in the way he moved and carried himself.

“You can ask,” he said, before dropping his eyes and focusing back on his task.

“How old are you?”

Geralt paused before answering, but his hands didn’t skip a beat in their work. “Maybe… a hundred years old? It’s difficult to remember.”

A chill ran up Shona’s spine. “You jest.”

The witcher looked up again. His golden eyes showed no trace of a lie.

Shona shrugged off the sudden feeling of being very small in the world that had crept up her neck. Of course there were beings who lived incredibly long lives. Witchers were rumoured to be amongst those, but she didn’t know enough about them to confirm it. Until now. “How old is Eskel? The same?”

“About the same,” Geralt said. “We trained and grew up as boys together.”

Shona crossed the yard to sit across from Geralt. She crossed her legs and arranged her skirt and apron over her lap. “So, you’ve known each other for a hundred years.”

“Yeah.” He wrung out a shirt in the rinsing water bucket before getting up to hang it on the clothes line. Most of the washing was done at this point. Geralt, Eskel, Lambert, and Vesemir had known each other for so long. Even if they did not all see eye to eye, Lambert especially, they knew each other better than anyone across the land.

“Training must be difficult,” Shona remarked, straining to remember stories of witchers she had been told as a young girl. She had only been alive thirty years, which in comparison to Geralt, almost made her feel like a child again. He was older than her father, and older than her grandfather had been before passing away. She was curious to know about all the things he had seen in his long life. She had barely left Alness at all in her whole thirty years. The white-haired witcher could provide a window to a different life, without the risk of actually living it.

“The most difficult thing I’ve ever done,” Geralt admitted. Training to be a witcher, undergoing mutations and trials, it had all happened early in his life. Now, as a man with a hundred years of living under his belt, he felt that he could tackle almost anything. He had a broad range of experience to draw from, an encyclopedic knowledge of creatures and monsters, and a thirst to learn more and to perfect his trade.

Geralt sat back down, ready to tackle the blood stains on the blanket. The soapy water was cold now, and was looking less appealing than when he had started. He was almost done. He decided to only wash the blood stained part, instead of struggling with a large, wet blanket.

“What’s the world like?” Shona asked, changing the subject. She saw a shadow pass over Geralt’s face when she asked about his training, and thought that prying was not her business. They were practically strangers, after all.

“Unforgiving, but magnificent,” Geralt answered promptly. There was so much in the world that filled him with wonder, but he often encountered shocking displays of carnage and cruelty, and had committed many himself. He did not want to dismay Shona completely, as she had been kind to him and Eskel, but he wouldn’t lie to her either. That was how he saw the world— unforgiving, but magnificent.


End file.
